Hello, everyone! This is my first AAR, as well as my first post ever on these forums, so I'm fairly new to the whole experience, but I just had an absolutely amazing playthrough that I wanted to share. This will be an image-light post, as I only thought to take a few mid-game, and the story begins and ends here, but I'm hoping you still find some entertainment in it.
Well, look what we've got here, lads! A proper southron boy, green as any spring I've ever seen! What brings you North of the Wall, boy? No matter. I'm sure it's not a very entertaining story. You lads don't tell good stories down in the summerlands. You're too busy walking around in gleaming armor, trying to squeeze your way into some blinded lass' knickers to know anything worth tellin'.
Well, southron boy, we've got a long night ahead of us, and more than enough campfire. Why not hear a real story? Ever hear of the Bloodstorm? King Red the Bewitched?
Thought not. Your maesters wouldn't want to remember a real man of the North, a man born beyond the Wall, no matter what he did. Well, make yourself comfortable, lad. You're about to learn what they never wanted you to hear.
Now, I'm sure you've heard the tale of Aegon the Conqueror. Course you have. He burnt or bowed the seven kings with his dragons. Now, history would have you believe dragons follow the Targaryeans and their sickly-lookin' lot, but that's not the full story. Dragons, as much as men, follow strength. And King Red had enough to break the world, had he been given the chance.
He was a Thenn back when it all started. Huge lad, said to be seven stones high with his boots on, and as broad-chested as any weirwood tree you're like to find up here.Giant's blood was in there somewhere, it just had to be.
He'd always been known for his strength. They say, when he was just a lad, he snapped the neck of his older brother clean around in a fight over a slab of horsemeat. Most people knew to steer clear, or at the very least to not pick a fight. Most people aren't quite sure why he called himself Red. Some think it had to do with his brother. Some just think he liked the color.
One night, the lad was visiting Frozen Shore, drinking with what few friends he had. He stumbled off into the dark, pissed out his eyes, until he got lost. There, out in the dark, by the coast, he found it. The egg. Humming, it was, and as warm as the Doom it came from. He took it with him back to his boys, eager to show off his discovery. These boys took a liking to it right away. Fight broke out. And they all learned what his brother had.
The blood of all his former friends pooled around the fire. Filled with regret, he stacked the bodies into a pyre, and put the egg inside as penance. But if the Old Gods pass judgement, they have a funny way of showing it. That night, the egg hatched, and a Magnar of Thenn was now the most powerful man North of the Wall.
He spent the rest of his youth raising the beast. As much as he steeled the beast, the beast steeled him. It gave him focus, a drive he'd never had before. Red realized the gift he'd been given, and he knew better to squander it. So, on his 18th name day, when he was sure and ready, he declared his intention: He would be King.
From Thenn, he struck out, taking the Frozen Shore in two days. Men weren't sure what to make of him, but they feared him. They called the dragon Bloodstorm, but that name soon came to mean the owner as much as his mount. In four quick years, he had laid claim to most of the North beyond the Wall, and no one dared to chalenge him. Crowned in weirwood, he became the King Beyond the Wall.
But that would never be enough, not for the Bloodstorm. He called out the Night's Watch two days after he was crowned. Now, this Night's Watch was a different breed from the pansy crows you see nowadays. These were of a hardier stock, back when you Andals knew a thing or two about breeding and working a sword arm. But that didn't stop him any.
Four hundred men. Four hundred men, that dragon, and that king. They torched Castle Black and laid claim to it, and the men of the Night's Watch bowed. They vowed to serve the King, to honor him in all his trials. Their vows were broken, and they were remade in his image.
This didn't sit well with the Starks, as you might imagine. You remember the King who Knelt, Torrhen Stark. Well, he called up his bannermen and rode north. King Red sat in Castle Black and pushed back wave after wave. He refused to give way. Eventually, Stark let him have the Watch, after he'd lost something close to twenty thousand men.
But it was too late by then. He'd picked a fight with the Bloodstorm. By this point, the men were sure he was something more than a man. They called him "Bewitched", telling tales of his drinking the dragon's blood and doing impossible things. Maybe the Targaryeans might have seen what he really was, but they took little notice. There was trouble brewing in the south, some business with the Reach, and they never rode North.
Not even when Red rode for Winterfell. Stark damn near pissed himself. He called up the Vale, his bannerman, anyone and everyone he could put between the Storm and himself. Sixty thousand men were said to die in the Red March between the Wall and Winterfell. Red rode down with a thousand, so you can bet your ass most of those weren't his.
By the time he'd reached Winterfell, he only had twenty two men by his side. But these twenty two men were worth a thousand each, and most of all, he had his dragon. Torrhen burned in dragon's fire, and the queen and her son were taken as captives. It seemed almost certain that King Red would soon have dominion over the North.
But of course, when you southron lads can't face a man eye to eye, no matter what you say about honor, you'll take to shadows. Brandon Stark, the bastard half-brother of Torrhen, he'd been boiling a hatred for dragons. When Aegon came, he advised they kill the dragons in the night. Torrhen had none of it then, but Torrhen was ash at this point, so what did he have to say?
That bastard proved his blood five times over a few weeks after Winterfell.
Things changed quick. See, above the Wall, we know a man ain't his father. He's his own man. So when a king dies, if his son wants to lead, he's gotta earn that right. His firstborn, Joern, had run off with some Stark bannerman's daughter. Somebody slit his throat in his sleep a few months before, likely as a signal to the King.
So it fell to his second son (of fifteen, if you'd believe it!), Errok, to try and lead the men he'd left behind.
Now, Errok had two chances to be the man his father was. Bloodstorm had returned to the North, and was running wild. Red had also breeded another egg meant for his children.
But Errok was not his father. No one was or ever will be.
When the Starks came knocking, looking for the Night's Watch, he tried to tame Bloodstorm. The dragon knew the stock of him right away, and refused. He maimed Errok, hollowing out King Red's old castle in Frozen Shore, waiting for his return. With no throne and no weapon, Errok turned to the egg. The hatching was a disaster. The dragon died on birth, a shriveled mess. The fires took to his wife.
Over the next two years, he sat in Thenn as his men cut loose. The Starks never went north of the Wall, they knew it was over. When Errok heard the last of his men were coming, he gathered his brothers and sisters into his house. Most were still children. He burned it down, all of them inside.
That's the story of King Red the Bewitched, boy. He left no dynasty behind. No castles. Nothing but the story of him, the fear and awe a man like that deserves. That's the breed of men we let lead here, North of the Wall. Them, and nothing else.
KING RED THE BEWITCHED
The Bloodstorm
King Beyond the Wall
The Bloodstorm
King Beyond the Wall
Well, look what we've got here, lads! A proper southron boy, green as any spring I've ever seen! What brings you North of the Wall, boy? No matter. I'm sure it's not a very entertaining story. You lads don't tell good stories down in the summerlands. You're too busy walking around in gleaming armor, trying to squeeze your way into some blinded lass' knickers to know anything worth tellin'.
Well, southron boy, we've got a long night ahead of us, and more than enough campfire. Why not hear a real story? Ever hear of the Bloodstorm? King Red the Bewitched?
Thought not. Your maesters wouldn't want to remember a real man of the North, a man born beyond the Wall, no matter what he did. Well, make yourself comfortable, lad. You're about to learn what they never wanted you to hear.
Now, I'm sure you've heard the tale of Aegon the Conqueror. Course you have. He burnt or bowed the seven kings with his dragons. Now, history would have you believe dragons follow the Targaryeans and their sickly-lookin' lot, but that's not the full story. Dragons, as much as men, follow strength. And King Red had enough to break the world, had he been given the chance.
He was a Thenn back when it all started. Huge lad, said to be seven stones high with his boots on, and as broad-chested as any weirwood tree you're like to find up here.Giant's blood was in there somewhere, it just had to be.
He'd always been known for his strength. They say, when he was just a lad, he snapped the neck of his older brother clean around in a fight over a slab of horsemeat. Most people knew to steer clear, or at the very least to not pick a fight. Most people aren't quite sure why he called himself Red. Some think it had to do with his brother. Some just think he liked the color.
One night, the lad was visiting Frozen Shore, drinking with what few friends he had. He stumbled off into the dark, pissed out his eyes, until he got lost. There, out in the dark, by the coast, he found it. The egg. Humming, it was, and as warm as the Doom it came from. He took it with him back to his boys, eager to show off his discovery. These boys took a liking to it right away. Fight broke out. And they all learned what his brother had.
The blood of all his former friends pooled around the fire. Filled with regret, he stacked the bodies into a pyre, and put the egg inside as penance. But if the Old Gods pass judgement, they have a funny way of showing it. That night, the egg hatched, and a Magnar of Thenn was now the most powerful man North of the Wall.
He spent the rest of his youth raising the beast. As much as he steeled the beast, the beast steeled him. It gave him focus, a drive he'd never had before. Red realized the gift he'd been given, and he knew better to squander it. So, on his 18th name day, when he was sure and ready, he declared his intention: He would be King.
From Thenn, he struck out, taking the Frozen Shore in two days. Men weren't sure what to make of him, but they feared him. They called the dragon Bloodstorm, but that name soon came to mean the owner as much as his mount. In four quick years, he had laid claim to most of the North beyond the Wall, and no one dared to chalenge him. Crowned in weirwood, he became the King Beyond the Wall.
But that would never be enough, not for the Bloodstorm. He called out the Night's Watch two days after he was crowned. Now, this Night's Watch was a different breed from the pansy crows you see nowadays. These were of a hardier stock, back when you Andals knew a thing or two about breeding and working a sword arm. But that didn't stop him any.
Four hundred men. Four hundred men, that dragon, and that king. They torched Castle Black and laid claim to it, and the men of the Night's Watch bowed. They vowed to serve the King, to honor him in all his trials. Their vows were broken, and they were remade in his image.
This didn't sit well with the Starks, as you might imagine. You remember the King who Knelt, Torrhen Stark. Well, he called up his bannermen and rode north. King Red sat in Castle Black and pushed back wave after wave. He refused to give way. Eventually, Stark let him have the Watch, after he'd lost something close to twenty thousand men.
But it was too late by then. He'd picked a fight with the Bloodstorm. By this point, the men were sure he was something more than a man. They called him "Bewitched", telling tales of his drinking the dragon's blood and doing impossible things. Maybe the Targaryeans might have seen what he really was, but they took little notice. There was trouble brewing in the south, some business with the Reach, and they never rode North.
Not even when Red rode for Winterfell. Stark damn near pissed himself. He called up the Vale, his bannerman, anyone and everyone he could put between the Storm and himself. Sixty thousand men were said to die in the Red March between the Wall and Winterfell. Red rode down with a thousand, so you can bet your ass most of those weren't his.
By the time he'd reached Winterfell, he only had twenty two men by his side. But these twenty two men were worth a thousand each, and most of all, he had his dragon. Torrhen burned in dragon's fire, and the queen and her son were taken as captives. It seemed almost certain that King Red would soon have dominion over the North.
But of course, when you southron lads can't face a man eye to eye, no matter what you say about honor, you'll take to shadows. Brandon Stark, the bastard half-brother of Torrhen, he'd been boiling a hatred for dragons. When Aegon came, he advised they kill the dragons in the night. Torrhen had none of it then, but Torrhen was ash at this point, so what did he have to say?
That bastard proved his blood five times over a few weeks after Winterfell.
Things changed quick. See, above the Wall, we know a man ain't his father. He's his own man. So when a king dies, if his son wants to lead, he's gotta earn that right. His firstborn, Joern, had run off with some Stark bannerman's daughter. Somebody slit his throat in his sleep a few months before, likely as a signal to the King.
So it fell to his second son (of fifteen, if you'd believe it!), Errok, to try and lead the men he'd left behind.
Now, Errok had two chances to be the man his father was. Bloodstorm had returned to the North, and was running wild. Red had also breeded another egg meant for his children.
But Errok was not his father. No one was or ever will be.
When the Starks came knocking, looking for the Night's Watch, he tried to tame Bloodstorm. The dragon knew the stock of him right away, and refused. He maimed Errok, hollowing out King Red's old castle in Frozen Shore, waiting for his return. With no throne and no weapon, Errok turned to the egg. The hatching was a disaster. The dragon died on birth, a shriveled mess. The fires took to his wife.
Over the next two years, he sat in Thenn as his men cut loose. The Starks never went north of the Wall, they knew it was over. When Errok heard the last of his men were coming, he gathered his brothers and sisters into his house. Most were still children. He burned it down, all of them inside.
That's the story of King Red the Bewitched, boy. He left no dynasty behind. No castles. Nothing but the story of him, the fear and awe a man like that deserves. That's the breed of men we let lead here, North of the Wall. Them, and nothing else.
Do you have any more screenshots of your dominion when Red was ruling?
